


special assignment

by shutUpGeoffrey



Category: SCP Foundation
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-02-22 23:47:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23635612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shutUpGeoffrey/pseuds/shutUpGeoffrey
Summary: Dr. Simon Glass receives a promotion and a transfer to a legendary Site-[REDACTED] and gets the opportunity to work with such renowned scientists as Dr. Jack Bright. But going through therapy with him turns out quite difficult for both of them.
Relationships: Jack Bright/Dr. Simon Glass
Comments: 14
Kudos: 83





	1. SESSION 1

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to apologize to anyone, who might read this fic:  
> 1) This is literally the first time for me writing in English. I have probably made so many mistakes, in grammar and spelling, and my whole work almost certainly sound unnatural and weird. I’m sorry;  
> 2) There is mentions of depression and real-life techniques to cope with it in this work – so I want to apologize to actual therapists and anyone who had to deal with it firsthand. I’m sorry!

Dr. Simon Glass looked around his new office. It was uncomfortably… “cosy”. If one can call it so. Well, someone from the Foundation perhaps could. Someone living in a more normal environment would probably find this room quite oppressive. If not outright miserable even. Simon disappointedly frowned at the room. Before his transfer he made a list of requests regarding his future work office and now he was meticulously assessing the results of his application. In the middle of the office laid aggressively red carpet. Simon wanted a carpet, yes, thinking how many people unconsciously enjoy walking on soft surfaces and how stepping in his office it would immediately put them in the better mood, but horrendously looking rug just looked like someone bled all over it. 

Well. Simon turned around. Near the door stood dull, drear aquarium without any fish inside. Human brain loves looking at the water. And if there’s some fish swimming around, most human’s brains would find it rather relaxing. But when Simon requested some fish, he received a short rejection letter due to “safety protocols 44-b”. Which was ridiculous for neither goldfish, siamese fish nor catfish could be possibly classified as “aquatic craniate SCP”. Not even a catfish. No matter how much Glass disliked them. This rejection letter then stated that requested aquarium shall be installed without any dangerous lifeform within. Simon has sent several letters assuring that he does not need an empty aquarium and would much more appreciate a miniature fountain (or even a painting of a fish) but only received “request fulfilled” in return. 

In the eastern wall awkwardly shone at him a fake fireplace. Fire. That another thing that tends to have calming effect on human brain. Simon didn’t request real fireplace of course, not in the underground facility. Just real-enough looking. But what he saw now in his office was out of his expectations. It was an absolute joke. Small dark orange cloth shivered nervously on top of the cheap fan. Simon tilted his head trying to understand what exactly this “fireplace” remined him of. Oh! He remembered when Dr. Rebecca Garcia were so unfortunately just infected with SCP-383 and proceeded (quite impressively non-stop!) blow her nose until there was more blood then mucus on her handkerchief – that what this fake reddish cloth-fire looked like. Simon turned away. Stupid fireplace. He really liked Becca. 

Simon fell into his big leather armchair. It immediately made an annoying squeaking sound. Is it laughing at him? Wait. Is he losing his mind? Glass turned on his computer. Time to go back to work. On the screen a message from the director, Tilda D. Moose, greeted him: “Here’s assigned list of personnel scheduled for evaluations on the following week”. A month before, when he first was informed of his promotion and transfer to a different site, Dr. Moose had a semi-private conversation with Glass. She was quite impressed with him and thought that he very much deserves this transfer. Much more dangerous SCPs there, yes, of course, but also much more famous colleges to work with. And besides, she’s certain that he’ll do jolly well. He might not have a lot of experience, but she knows a genius, when she sees one! And if he’ll manage to… find a right approach to some very valuable, but troublesome personnel, she’s sure he’ll be promoted to head of psychology department in no time. That would be her “special” assignment for him.

Glass opened document from Moose. And froze. Did she make a mistake? Does his computer show a wrong date? He can’t have his first evaluations now, he hasn’t even…

The door opened. 

He is having his first evaluations now. 

Simon smiled at the visitor. Tall, fit man stepped into the room. Glass instantly noticed that there was something off about him. It was almost like his movement did not match his own body. He looked weathered and hardy, like a worker right from the mine, but moved slowly and awkwardly, as if he was too tired to be here right now. He stopped in one anxious motion and raised his heavy scarred hand to his chest with the beginning of some familiar movement, but then impatiently dropped it to his side and blindly looked around. Not tired, Glass corrected himself, sleepy.

Another thing that Simon thought was off – were visitor’s clothing: blue jeans, red and white sneakers, warm black turtleneck and white doctor’s coat – all looked like it was one size wrong – which gave him even weirder presence. This man looked like as if lunatic switched bodies with a harden criminal. Simon tried to remember his list, that he received from Moose.

“Dr. Bright!” Simon held out his hand for a handshake with a friendly smile. “Dr. Simon Glass. How do you do?”

Jack looked at his hand with a strange expression that Simon straggled to identify (something between confusion and contempt perhaps, Glass thought) and then turned away not making any attempts to participate in a handshake. 

Glass jerked his hand back to his side. Why did he do it? He knows perfectly well that many people don’t like shaking hands, it’s completely unnecessary and risks making them uncomfortable. And that’s exactly the opposite of what he wants. 

Bright meanwhile turned his back to Glass and looked at the empty aquarium dropping his head a bit. His bald, dark head reflected copper gleam showing weird lines on top of it. Simon tried to descry the nature of a strange pattern. Was it scars? Trepanning? Were those marks obtained before or after this body came into Bright’s possession? Did it hold an effect on the brain? Did it hold an effect on Bright? 

“Where’s fish?”

Jack’s sudden voice brought Simon back from his thoughts. Again, he felt this strange mismatch: low, raucous voice was spoken with weird jumpy intonations. And what was this accent?

“Oh, no,” Simon laughed, “Not fish. It’s a newly discovered SCP. Similar to 408. But the camouflage is perpetual.”

“Permanently invisible fish?”

“Yep” Why is he lying about stupid fish? It’s not like it’s even funny.

Jack looked at him puzzled. He didn’t seem to believe in invisible fish for one second and now was trying to understand where’s a punchline to this joke. 

“Right!” Simon clapped his hands and walked closely to Bright. “I’m so very glad that you found time to visit me and…”

“I didn’t”

“I’m sorry?” Glass stopped, taken aback.

“I did not find any time. In fact, there’s quite a few things that I would rather do now, than be here. Director of this Site found time for me.”

“Yes, right, erm…” Glass stood there, blinking stupidly. What is he doing? “Well, yes, I, myself, would prefer not to work on my first day of transfer at all. Actually, right know, getting myself a cup of coffee and making informal introductions to my new colleges would be rather great, I think.”

Bright looked at him expectantly. 

“But I still do need to file an evaluation report to the director.”

Jack was still saying nothing. Glass tried to read his expression, but couldn’t decipher anything besides sleepiness. And he wasn’t even sure about that. 

“And you still need to use your keycard in the end of our session,” added Simon carefully, “To set up right time record.” 

“Well, how about…” finally spoke Jack, raising his hands in some theatrical movement, “You open a door with you card, I leave, then I return an hour later and use my card?” 

“That’s… an option, yes,” Glass took his clipboard and scribbled quickly a few words “I’ll wright it down, ok? Right. Now. I have a preposition too. Seeing how you not very excited for this session, I could just give you a simple test to complete.” 

“Oh, wow, exhilarating…” Jack fell onto the sofa and rubbed his temple. Did he have a headache? He looked like he hadn’t slept for 4 days. No, 2, decided Simon and wrote a note about it. Jack wasn’t saying anything else, but Glass only looked at him patiently, waiting for him to speak. He needed Bright to talk now, to create rhythm to this conversation. And silence will work better, than suasions, he thought. Jack finally turned to him. “Or we can just sit in silence, like now, until the end?”

“Hmm…” Glass wrote that down as well, sitting down in armchair opposite of Jack. “Or perhaps we could actually talk? I have a list of questions that was approved by…”

“Or perhaps you could fuck off?” Jack interrupted him with sudden and loud frustration, mocking Glass’ words. “If you can’t shut up, can we at least talk about something relatively interesting? I’m not listening to that bullshit again…” 

“Mhm…” Sudden outbursts of anger? Glass made another note. “How about your latest hobby? That’s interesting, no?”

“No,” Long silence again. “My current project is going to hell.” Bright stopped abruptly and glanced at Glass like he hadn’t any intentions of saying this to him (or anyone) and now regretted so misjudgingly filling the silence. 

“I see…,” Another quick scribble. “And you can always just talk about yourself, if you want, of course.”

Jack rolled his eyes.

“Ok, let’s revision then, shall we?” Glass tapped on his clipboard with pen. “First, you leaving for the whole hour. Hmm, well, that’s leaves me with nothing to work with, so, I’m afraid, I’m going to cross this option out.” 

“Yeah, it’s not like there’s any escaping, is there? Whatever they say…” said Bright quietly, weakly, without any irony. It was, Simon though, acceptance of defeat, of one’s own helplessness. Glass added another note.

“Alright, next one, a simple test?”

Jack sighed heavily and turned away.

“Very well, no to this one,” Simon crossed out another point in his list. “Next, sitting in silence. Well. That would make a very long hour, no?”

Bright didn’t answer.

“I’ll cross it out. Right. Then, the official questionnaire?”

“Oh, have I forgot to tell you to fuck off? Sorry, I have trouble remembering details sometimes.”

Every word was coated with sarcasm, but the last part, about memory problems was genuine. Glass was pretty good at figuring out whether someone was telling a lie, or a truth. Their portable polygraph, said Rebecca to him once. Simon made another note.

“Crossing out then. Well, can you tell me about your hobby?”

“I don’t know…” Jack looked around absentmindedly. “I don’t have a hobby.”

“That’s ok, I’ll cross it out. So, your current project?”

Jack shrugged. 

“Do you want to tell me about yourself?”

“No, not really, doc.” Again, the heaviest sarcasm. Glass noted how weirdly Jack deforms his intonations to show irony: lifting some words on higher tone, and lowering others. It was like he was deliberately trying to sound most annoying. Strangely, Simon found it quite amusing. 

“Well, that only leaves one point on our list,” said Simon softly with a smile. “Your project, doctor?”

Jack said nothing, but shifted on the sofa uncomfortably, making pained expression. 

“Do you work alone?” asked Simon, hoping that he wouldn’t need to ask many questions. 

“Oh, I wish!” exclaimed Jack suddenly animated. “Dr. Silas is not letting me make one step without her close supervision.” 

“I see…” slightly nodded Glass. 

“And, like, what? Was I not given authorization to use 311?”

“Mm?” Simon lifted his eyebrows in question. He made him talk. That’s great.

“I was! A full authorization to use them both on D-class and other SCPs. Well, …” Jack sighed and continued a bit quietly. “Except the ones, that I’m not allowed interacting with anymore.”

“Hmm…” Glass looked at Bright, prompting him to continue. 

“Which is bullshit, ‘cause we know that 173 uses his hands to break necks, yeah?” 

“Yes…” 

“Damage caused anomalously is quite different from regular damage, that we can afflict to SCPs, you know?”

“Mhm…”

“And who said it has to be damage?”

“Ah-ha!”

“And what about 3081? SCP- 3081-1, to be precise.” 

“Oh, yes.”

Bright trailed off into his thoughts, jumping from one idea to another. A lot of his hypothesis Simon either didn’t follow, or just found outright stupid. But some, he thought, were actually brilliant. Glass listened silently, nodding his head, while studying his patient: expressions, gestures, movements. When before Bright was sluggish and drowsy, now everything about him was twitchy, sharp, agile. He gesticulated a lot, illustrating everything with his hands. He also frequently moved back and forth, often leaning closer to Glass, as to tell him an important secret. And every time Simon was founding himself leaning a bit closer in return, paying better attention. 

“Oh, whatever,” Jack stopped, suddenly losing all of his energy, drowning back into the sofa. “It doesn’t matter, none of my projects matter now…” 

“You sound very disappointed” Once more Glass felt this complete hopelessness in Bright’s words and underlined it on his paper. 

“Can’t even ask to work on a fucking lizard now,” mumbled Jack. “After what happened to 1799 and stuff…”

“It’s always very upsetting to lose something one is passionate about” Glass nodded, making note to ask someone about what happened later. 

“I know this lizard, alright? I know how to deal with him. Probably better than anyone else in this facility.”

“Right…” 

“It’s just doesn’t make sense, that they wouldn’t even consider my prepositions regarding 682!”

“Perhaps, they just reluctant to take extra risks with such dangerous SCP?” asked Simon and immediately bit his own cheek. Why did he say it? He’s not here to defend other side. Or ask rhetorical questions. Or give advice. Get a grip! 

“They’re not taking any risks!” Jack waved his hand angrily at someone not present here. “I do!”

Simon looked at Bright silently. He didn’t want to mess it up even more. 

“And I will be taking those risks, alright? That’s my choice, isn’t it?”

“I see…” Simon listened closely to Bright’s words. It almost sounded like he didn’t just want to put himself in danger. He hoped for it to end up badly. Glass lowered his eyes to his clipboard and after some consideration wrote down “death wish”.

“And now that…” Jack grimaced, but hold his words. “That Dr. Silas is following my every step.”

“You quite vexed with her.”

“No shit!”

“That would make you not want to work not only with her, but with 311 also.”

“Well… Yeah.” Jack looked at Glass with surprised confusion. Was he surprised that someone tried to understand him? Or that someone even listen to all this without judging or pitying him? Or perhaps he was surprised at himself for saying so much? 

Sudden alarm beeped from Glass’ computer.

“Aha!” Simon stood up. “I’m afraid our time is out, Dr. Bright.”

“What? Don’t you need, like, do the evaluation?” Jack stood up too, but hesitantly and uncertain.

“Oh, don’t worry, Dr. Bright, I already did.” Simon smiled, showing white teeth, and gestured to the door. “You will receive a notice regarding results of today evaluation on your mail.”

“You did what exactly? How about you just tell me, Glass?” 

“That’s against the protocol, I’m afraid!” Simon laughed and walked to the door. “Thank you!” 

Jack didn’t say anything, but, throwing a quick glance at Glass, open the door and walked away.

Simon closed the door and let out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding in. Now he needed to think what to write in the report. Dr. Jack Bright. He was part of the “special assignment” that director, Moose asked him about. She didn’t tell him much about Bright, but Glass certainly heard a thing or two about “immortal doctor”. He didn’t saw 963 on him though. Meaning he had this body long enough? Or was it hidden under his turtleneck? 

Simon looked at the notes he made. A headache? Slow movement and seeming drowsiness. Sleep deprivation? Irritability. Feelings of hopelessness. Trouble remembering details. Simple inattentiveness or serious memory problems? No hobby, apparently. Was he just reluctant to share, or is he actually has no interest in anything outside his work? And the last one - suicidal tendencies? 

It was ridiculous to judge one’s mental health based on one-hour meeting. Especially considering that a whole lot of it was wasted on silence and nonsense. He read Bright’s files of course, including previous psychological assessments, but they could have been wrong or outdated. Dr. Bright had a bad night rest last night and now was feeling a bit cranky. It’s really nothing unusual. Stressful job. He’d seen people doing weirder things to cope. 

But if he’ll send such report to Moose, that’ll be it for Bright. She’ll probably won’t give him more hours with him. And she’ll probably won’t give him a promotion.

Simon typed a report. “Chronic depression”. No-no-no. He erased his conclusion. That’s just silly. He typed again. “Bipolar depression”. He frowned at the screen. “Possible bipolar depression” he fixed. He hovered his mouse over “send” but hesitated. Was it wrong? Was he lying? No, of course no. I mean, he wrote “possible”, didn’t he? That’s only an estimation. Anything could be “possible”. Especially here. And Bright did look like he needed help. So, really, he was just being safe. Right?

Simon send the report.


	2. SESSION 2

Dr. Jack Bright stormed into Glass’ office.

“Oh, I see how it is!”

Simon dropped newly bought painting of a fish that he was trying to put on the wall. He didn’t like his office very much, it looked gloomy and heavy. His requested rug, aquarium and “fireplace” were making things even worse. Perhaps, a cute little painting of a silly little fish will make it a bit better.

“Dr. Bright!” said Glass turning to Jack. “I haven’t expected you so early.”

“Piss off. I know, what you did”

Simon’s mouth went dry. Did he do something? Is there a breach happening right now? Had someone died? What did he do? Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

“I do wonder…” Bright contemplatively tapped his chin with great exaggeration. “What did you tell Moos? That I’m schizophrenic?” 

So, is it about evaluation? It’s nothing terrible then. Is it? 

“I can assure you,” started Glass slowly. “I said no such thing. To anyone.”

“Yeah, right, it’s just me getting a therapy twice a week ‘cause it’s cool and refreshing. Helps you look at the old world with new eyes.” 

Glass bit his cheek to not laugh. He wasn’t sure why, but Bright’s exasperating way of conveying sarcasm was unavoidably funny to him.

“Many of our colleagues regularly attend therapy,” said Glass carefully. “It’s perfectly expected, considering our line of work.”

“Except it’s usually voluntary.”

“Well, I’m sure I hold little power to force you to stay in my office, Dr. Bright.”

“Ah-ha, sur-ah thi-ing,” stretched his words Jack. “Only I ain’t gonna restore my clearance to any Euclid and Keter-level experimentation until certain ‘further notice’. Which, something tells me, doc, a hunch really, ‘ll be from you.”

Simon was lost. That wasn’t exactly what he was expecting. It definitely wasn’t any of his intentions. Why would Moos elect so much weight on him? She told him, how much trust she holds in him and his abilities, and she did specifically mention Bright, but that was a bit too much, no? He was good at reading people, alright, but he wasn’t a mind-reading SCP (despite what some might have said). And why restrict Bright all of a sudden? As far as he knew there wasn’t any breaches or accidents recently. Was she plotting something? Was his transfer, his new position, his promised promotion – was all of it just a part of something else? Means to a plan? To upset balance of powers? To stop certain project from happening? Was he himself simply a blind puppet in someone’s game? 

Simon thoughts ran quickly in his head. Perhaps he is overreacting? Blowing all of this out of proportions? Being overdramatic? Yes. Probably. Most likely. He pieced together a picture of Tilda D. Moose: her career, her phycological portrait, her scientific works – none of it would suggest ulterior motives and backroom intrigues. But then… he did hear some people call Moos a “figurehead”.

“Ok, Glass, what do you want from me?”

“I’m sorry?” woke up from his deep contemplations Simon. Did he miss something? He wasn’t listening closely.

“To get my records straight.”

“Improvements to your mental health would do, yes.”

Jack looked at him, squinting his eyes. He didn’t believe him. Whatever trust was built yesterday was now lost. 

“I do…” Simon shut his mouth. No matter how much he wanted to tell Bright that he really does want to help, it wouldn’t actually be the best thing to say. Especially now. Why was it so important for him all of sudden anyway? It really isn’t, concluded Simon.

“What?” asked Jack with returning aggravation. 

“Yes, I do think, that I can reschedule our meeting for now, so you wouldn’t need to come again in the evening.”

Bright stood silently. Simon saw how he wants to argue, but at the same time doesn’t want to refuse this offer. It staggered him for a moment and that was exactly what Glass wanted. 

“But next time, Dr. Bright, please do come right on time.” Simon smiled nicely and started tapping on his computer, seemingly leaving Bright alone. He still watched him in his peripheral vision. Jack was sluggishly maundering along his office, hands crossed. He was idly looking around, not really stopping his sight on anything. Simon tried to read his expression. Bright looked tired again, yes, but also lost somewhere, not even his thoughts, somewhere else, deep inside his mind. 

“What’s up with the ugly picture?”

“Ha?” was plucked out from his observations Simon.

“That.” Bright pointed on the painting of the fish, that Glass dropped on the floor before and forgot to pick up. 

“Oh. That’s a, erm… a painting of s fish.”

“Did 053 draw it?”

“Um… no. I bought it on eBay.”

Bright looked puzzled between the picture and Glass. “Why?”

“Well. It’s a nice picture?”

“It really isn’t.”

Glass looked at the painting. It wasn’t anything special, but it was kind of cute, he thought. But he wasn’t entirely honest really. It was the devastated by the bureaucracy aquarium that was getting on his nerves. He sighed.

“It upsets me that I don’t have any fish in my aquarium.”

Bright looked at the empty aquarium. Then back at Glass. He was getting visibly more and more confused. “Well why didn’t you buy some fish instead of an ugly drawing?”

“I was banned from keeping any fish in my office. Safety measures.” 

Jack looked at him silently for a moment, studying his face and finally said quietly with a sly smile. “Tragic.” 

Simon froze for a second. Why did he say it so strangely? Was there a threat in Bright voiced? No, something else. He couldn’t really put his finger on it. Yet. 

“Anyway, what this ‘therapy’ of yours ‘ll entail for me?” asked Jack, throwing himself onto sofa and stretching out his long slender legs. “Are you gonna ask me about my family?”

“Do you want to tell me about your family?”

“That’s classified. I’ll better listen to you tellin’ me about yours, doc.”

“That’s classified.” repeated Glass with careful smile.

“Is it now?” perked up Jack. He got his interest hooked up, thought Simon, that’s good. Better keep it high. 

“I wouldn’t know if it’s still is now, I’m afraid. My clearance level is not high enough.”

“You’re being evasive, Glass. You’re got secrets to hide?”

“One to many.” smiled coyly Simon. It wasn’t a lie. But it also wasn’t exactly his secrets. Not most of them.

“Ay, maybe that’s me then,” stood up Jack, looking at Simon playfully. “who should be asking questions to you, doc?”

“I’m not averse.” said Simon, looking at the screen of his computer, trying to hide how much he actually liked this idea. It would be an easy way to keep Bright talking, while making him believe that he is in control of the conversation.

“Well, go on then” Jack walked to Glass and waved his hand at him, telling him to stand away from his table. “You’re a patient now.”

Simon turned off his computer and changed himself to the sofa. Jack then sat on the edge of the table, took Glass’ clipboard, pen and mockingly wrote something with a few sarcastic “hmm”s and “ah-ha”s. Was he parodying Glass? Simon rubbed his lips in contemplative movement, hiding his smile. There was something terribly endearing to him in how childish Bright’s mockery was. 

“Well then, Dr. Glass, I think a change of roles ’ll beneficial for you, don’t you think? Now, how does that make you fe-el?” asked Jack, stretching his last word. 

“Splendid.”

“Let's get in touch with your inner child, Dr. Glass-s-s, shall we-e?” 

“That’s ever a super thought.”

“What was your relationships with your mother?”

“Mutable.”

“Your father?”

“Indeterminate.”

“Have you ever killed someone?”

“As a child?”

“Including.”

“I did.” answered Simon after a short consideration. 

“As a child?” mimicked Jack. 

“Thankfully not.”

“You don’t sound particularly bothered by it, doc.”

“Nor proud. It is what it is.”

“Who did you kill?”

Simon stopped for a second. One, two, he counted in his mind, bringing back unpleasant memories, five. Five lives were on his conscience. He wasn’t always strictly a therapist. Some of it, he knew, was classified. A lot of it he wasn’t well ready to share. But it was a good question to build up trust and connection, and he wouldn’t get much from shutting it down. Perhaps he could be just a little more evasive again without lying. 

“A month ago, I was partaking in an experiment. In short, my part was in monitoring a psychological effect of a… certain SCP on human participants. D-class mostly. All was going well and I was quite confident interviewing one of the D-class. He had finished all of his previous tests fairly successfully and had shown complete cooperativeness throughout the whole experiment. I arranged one-on-one interview. There were cameras of course, but no guards. I rather prefer private sessions, it’s much easier to make people trust you.” Simon stopped for a second studying Bright’s reaction. He was listening closely with his head tilted and one lip corner still pulled up. “It didn’t go to well, I’m afraid. He attacked me and I had to use my gun to stop him. I was too confident and hadn’t expected it. It was my mistake.” 

“You ain’t tellin’ me the whole answer, Glass.” grinned Jack. He’s not stupid, thought Glass, and can see through one’s obvious dissembling. Lying now would be counterproductive. Better try to shift his attention.

“Yes, the truth is, I hated it.” Simon paused, glancing at Bright. “But not the fact that I had to do it. I understand the nature of my position quite clear. What really disturbed me was… how easy it was for me.”

“Not easy enough, if you still mope about it.”

“Perhaps, yes. But at the moment I hadn’t hesitated for a second. I made three shots. First, wherever I was able to aim to stop him. Second – in his heart. And the last one – between his eyes – control shot. It was quick and calculated.”

“So, what, now you tore up that you’re a coldblooded killer?” 

The absolute poison of Bright’s derision pricked Glass unexpectedly painfully. If all this time he tried to get on his nerves, he had finally succeeded. 

“Yes, I am,” spit out Simon venomously. “And perhaps this organization would do a bit better, if others gave a little more time to self-reflection too.” 

Glass immediately regretted every word he said and shut his mouth, biting his tongue. Bright was looking at him, grinning and brushing his umber lips with Glass’ pen, tapping his teeth with it and even chewing on it. Simon felt weirdly confused at his own feeling. Was he annoyed that Bright was chewing on his favourite pen? Or perhaps impressed that someone managed to get under his skin so quickly? Yes, but there was also something else, something that Glass couldn’t exactly recognize. He stared at Bright bemused. 

“Great!” Jack straightened up and started to scratch something on the paper. “Now when we so wonderfully established trust between us, could you answer a few other questions for me, Dr. Glass?”

“Please, say on.” answered Simon with cold restraint.

“Can I really trust your advices being good for me?

“You can’t.”

“Go-od to know, doc.” sneered Jack, still scraping on the paper. 

Simon took a deep breath and tried to calm down. It was absolutely unexpectable to lose control like that. He needs to focus and come to his senses at once.

“How do I know that everything I say to you ‘ll stay between you and me?” asked Bright.

“In case there’s a risk of a serious hazard, like a containment breach, or a threat to someone’s life – I would be required to notify appropriate higher ranking personal,” said Glass slowly, trying to sound more pleasant and friendly, but yet sincere. “In all other instances, whatever you, or anyone else, will decide to tell me in confidence, there’ll be no administrator or O5 to whom I’ll say a single word.” 

Jack stopped scrawling and lifted pen to his lips, chewing on it again. He looked Glass over as if judging how much he can trust his words. 

“Are you going to push meds on me?” asked Jack.

“No, I don’t think I will.”

“Why?”

“I’ve read your files, Dr. Bright. And I don’t believe medication had really worked for you before. Am I right?”

“I dunno, they say third time's a charm, no?”

“I suspect there’ll be little use for medication, seeing how often you change your bodies, and therefor brains.”

Jack threw a quick side-glance to Simon. He wasn’t smiling anymore. There was something pensive in him now, thought Glass, melancholic even. 

“Ok, Glass, last question,” said Jack somewhat wearily, without any former energy. “No offense, but what if I just don’t like you much? Can I get a different therapist?” 

Simon tensed up and froze. He suddenly felt his throat tighten up. In his head he went through all the different possible answers, but weirdly found himself unable to produce a single sound. And for his own surprise he felt sore, resentful, bitter, hurt. He had no idea why some stupid questions so unexpectedly and so fully overwhelmed him with so many different feelings and he didn’t know how to react. Silence grew louder.

“Well…” said Jack, looking at his watch. “I’m afraid our time is out, Glass. Is it right?”

Simon couldn’t answer anything. He tried to act nonchalant, while avoiding to look at Bright. Jack dropped his clipboard and pen on the table and walk away without saying anything else.

Glass wasn’t sure how long he sat motionlessly. When he finally got up and walked to his table, he picked up clipboard and examined it. There, on the paper, were left different doodles, cute little caricatures of SCP-682, 529, 173, some fish and something that Simon identified as “mad scientist”. It was rather good, thought Glass. Perhaps, they should do something artistic together next time. He hid the paper in the table.


	3. SESSION 3

Simon went back to his office, holding a hot cup of coffee. It was a long day, but it wasn’t over yet. He had Dr. Bright scheduled this evening and he needed more energy for it. Walking in he saw someone going back and forth in his office – a petite young-looking girl with dry, tangled, unnaturally white hair. She turned sharply as soon as he entered and gave him long scornful once-over. She was wearing high-top sneakers, cuffed jeans, doctor’s coat and burgundy turtleneck, on top of which was hanging SCP-963.

“Good evening, Dr. Bright,” smiled softly Simon and walked to his table, putting his coffee down. “How do you do?”

“Little late, no, Glass?” said Jack checking his watch. Simon weighed whether he should ask about the change in appearance. What happened to his previous body? Should he ask? No, probably not, decided Glass. 

“Just had enough time to run to cafeteria and back!” laughed Simon. It wasn’t funny to him, but people usually find friendly laughter somewhat endearing. “Thank you for waiting.”

Jack was standing in the middle of the office, holding one hand close to himself and tugging on 963’s chain with the other. Again, Simon noticed that his costume wasn’t properly fitted: his jeans were too baggy and long (hence the cuffing), while his turtleneck was too small, too tight. Not that it was a bad look on his new body. Simon blinked and quickly averted his eyes. Was he staring? 

“Whatever is on agenda this evening, Glass?” said Jack blithely, squinting his big round eyes. Who was this girl, thought Simon, a D-class? And how old was she, 20? A bit too young to end up as D-class, no? What could she possibly had done? But then, again, stopped himself Glass, looks can be deceiving. 

“Actually, I hoped we could do some painting today.”

“Painting? Hope, you won’t ask me to paint your office or something. I ain’t never been a big fan of a precise work,” Jack illustrated his words by pretending to paint something very accurately and carefully in the air. “Tedious!”

Glass listened closely to him speak. It was a strange realization for him. He saw someone looking completely different and having completely different voice, speak with absolutely the same intonations and accent. And something about this pronunciation was rather pleasing and amusing to him. He couldn’t really put his finger on it. Was it the /r/ sound? He wasn’t rolling or tapping it, but yet it sounded a bit differently. Or was it the vowels? The way he stretched and distorted them sometimes. It was kind of funny, but in a very lovely, melodic way.

“No,” said Glass, coming back from his thoughts. “Don’t worry, Dr. Bright. Just a bit of drawing. Art therapy.” 

Yes, a bit of relaxing art therapy. Better not go in with Bender-Gestalt test right away. Or other tests. Not with Bright.

Jack looked at him confused. 

“I've got everything we should need,” said Glass, preparing drawing utensils: dragging an easel and a chair, bringing paint and pencils and putting canvases down. “Of course, we don’t have to do it, if you don’t want to, but… if you could try to… yes, that’s, um… that’s would be lovely… doesn’t have to be anything specific, or much, or good… just let your hand flow. A-and… Here. All ready.” 

Bright walked to the easel, but didn’t sit down.

“I don’t know what to draw.” said Jack, looking at Bright quizzically, as if asking him for instructions. 

“Oh, anything you want!” smiled Glass. “You could just make some random lines and shapes, if you’d like. Just try to express your emotions through it.” 

“I don’t know…” grimaced Jack. “I’m not really an artist, alright?”

“Everyone can draw, Dr. Bright.” 

“Look, you know what I mean, Glass.”

“I do. And that’s why I think it’s so important for us to figure out what do you feel and then put it into words. Or drawings first.”

“Ok, I feel… annoyed that I have to waste my time here.”

“Well,” Simon gestured towards the canvas. “Here you go.”

Jack sat, kind of awkwardly and uncertainly, in front of a canvas. He took one of the pencils and started fidgeting it in his hands, playing with it, spinning it between his fingers, but not drawing anything. Simon actually had been studying drawing as a child, but never really enjoyed it, finding it too difficult to get inspiration or ideas. Besides, he was thoroughly convinced that he possesses no talent in art whatsoever. 

Glass picked up his clipboard and pen (that was painstakingly shewed) and sat in armchair not far from Bright. 

“So, how are you feeling today, Dr. Bright?” 

“E-er-ugh…” slurred Jack something indistinct.

“What, would you say, was the best day for you this week?”

“Uh…” Bright looked around with an expression of absolute anguish on his face. 

“Ok,” nodded Simon. “What was the most difficult day?”

“Um…” Jack tapped his pencil on canvas, thinking. “Yesterday was pretty trash.” 

“And what happened yesterday?”

“Well…” Bright spread his hands and pointed at 963 in silent explanation.

Glass waited a bit for elaboration, but Jack wasn’t saying anything else, scraping something on the canvas with pencil. Simon decided not to push.

“What did you think, when it happened?” 

“I thought… well, fuck.”

“Mhm…” Simon hid his smile behind clipboard. “And how did it make you feel?”

Jack sighed wearily.

“That’s alright,” said Glass after waiting for some time for Bright to say something. “It usually not easy to start therapy. You have to think in a way, that you not used to, and then shed light on all the problems, that one would prefer not to look at.”

“Well, maybe I’ll just swallow some amnestics then and safe both of us troubles?”

“Only to then acquire new problems and worries? What would be a solution? Live in perpetual amnesia?” 

Jack wasn’t responding, silently drawing something. Simon tried to read his reaction. He looked tired and disappointed.

“You might feel like there’s no hope, like you have no control, no power over your own life…”

“I don’t even have control over my own death!” interrupted him Bright with sudden burst of anger. 

Simon waited a few seconds, letting Jack breath.

“Like you stuck in a train that runs without any stops,” continued Glass. “What we together can try to do – is to pause, step of the train for a minute and look at the tracks.”

Simon stopped, looking at Bright. He was clutching his pencil so hard, that Glass worried he could break it. 

“Perhaps you’ll see that there’s other cars, or even other trains to take.” Simon was speaking softly, kindly, trying to show that he genuinely cares and wants to help. “Or perhaps you’ll just take some time in peace to think and then continue your journey.”

“So very inspiring, Glass!” exclaimed Jack, throwing pencil on the floor and jumping up from his place. “Thank you so-so-so-so-so mu-uch. I feel cured already.”

Glass decided to remain silent, watching Bright pace back and forth in his office, arms crossed and breathing heavily. He seemed agitated, neurotic, stopping abruptly or taking irregular sharp breaths time to time. Simon suddenly felt bad for everything he said and stood up, wanting to comfort Bright, but stopped himself. He had done worse to some of his “patients”. Sometimes deliberately causing them irreversible harm for the sake of research or some other goals of the Foundation. He knows how to abstract from work. This case is no different. It was a strategy and there was a point to it. That’s it. 

“Oh, my lord!” suddenly exclaim Jack, stopping dead in his tracks.

Simon locked his eyes on Bright, alert, dreading to move or look anywhere else. Was there 096 in his office? Or perhaps it’s 173 and he on the contrary should start looking around immediately? 

“What the hell is this monstrosity?”

“Where?” asked Simon barely audibly. 

“I mean, look at it,” said Jack, pointing at the fake fireplace with spite and resentment. “It looks ridiculous. How did I not notice it before?”

“Oh…” breathed out Simon in relief. There were definitely major downsides to working on this Site. “Yes, right, I hate this thing too.”

“We should break it. Like right now.”

“What?”

“This.”

Simon blinked in confusion. Was Bright serious now? 

Jack walked to the fireplace and kicked it. Then again. Being cheap as it were, it didn’t withstand doctor’s attacks, bending severely in one of the legs. That’s good, thought Simon, he should let his anger out. Jack kicked it one more time for good measure and sighed, slowly but surely losing his hatred for this piece of architectural structure. Now he just looked tired and sad, as if this assault on the fireplace took away all of his remaining energy. He was looking at it with weary expression of irrevocable defeat. Like as if he miserably lost this battle. Like as if he’s always losing. Glass once again felt the urge to cheer him up somehow, make him feel better. He wanted to pat him on his back and assure him that this stupid fireplace will get what it deserves. But was it the best course of action? Will it really be helpful? Will it not backfire?

“May I look at you drawing, please?” asked he instead.

“What? Um… sure, yeah, why not?”

Simon walked to the easel and looked at the drawing. There was a little sketch that appeared to be something of a cartoon depicting a daft looking man in a doctor’s coat, with silly oversized head and big goofy eyes, holding a giant pen in the area of his… Glass looked at the drawing closer. Wait. Did Bright just draw a caricature on him? 

“Aw, get along with you!” said Simon lightheartedly, smiling with a fake frown, pretending to have his feelings hurt.

“You can’t say there’s no resemblance, Glass!” Jack sounded almost alive again. It made Simon smile a little bit more.

“And I won’t.” Glass looked at the drawing again and thought a bit. “You should colour it. Add some paint.”

“Eh…” Jack shrugged.

“Try it. It’s therapeutic.” 

Bright went back to the easel, opened some paint and started colouring. It wasn’t making his drawing any better. 

“You don’t have to be so stingy with paint, Dr. Bright, Foundation pays for it.” said Simon with a little smile. “And… perhaps, it’ll be a bit easier and convenient for you, if you try to hold your brush a bit… no, not like this, um…”

Glass reached out over Bright’s shoulder to hold his brush, but stopped himself. He’s not here to give drawing lessons, there’s hardly anything “therapeutic” in that, is there? Jack can rip his drawing in half and drown it an aquarium, if it helps. 

“What?” Jack sounded a bit annoyed, but also curious.

Glass leaned closer again and for a second Bright’s messy hair brushed lightly over his jaw. He took Bright’s hand, guiding his brush. He was close enough to feel the smell of coffee, quartz, hypochlorite and something very sweet and very pleasant. Simon felt a sudden hot wave going through him and let go of Bright’s hand, feeling like his own hand is unexplainably getting sweaty. He took a step back and bit his cheek hard to make sure there would be no colour on his face. Jack continued to paint for some time, paying no mind to Glass. Soon his simple drawing was ruined completely and unrecognizably. 

“Ok-e-ey, I’m done-done-done!” declared Jack finally, clapped his hands and looked at the clock. “Gosh, look at the time. Whisky and cocaine must have got tired of waiting for me!”

Glass threw a quick glance at Bright, judging how much truth was in this joke. Probably no whisky or cocaine, but he couldn’t guarantee that Bright wasn’t taking something else. 

“Just one moment, please, Dr. Bright. I want you to take something with you.” said Glass, opening one of the table drawers and taking out a small notebook.

“A gift? Cool. I love gifts,” replied Jack with no particular enthusiasm, “Hope it’s class-a amnestic.”

“I want you from now on to take some notes for me,” continued Simon, ignoring Bright’s barb. “Everyday. In the evening. After you done with everything.” 

“I’ll forget it. I’m always forgetting little things. Especially if I don’t care about them.”

“Do it as a daily routine, and you’ll get used to it. Now,” Simon open his notebook and started to write there. “There’s four main emotions one can feel, the rest are combinations of them: happy, sad, angry and anxious. I want you to rate how much you feel them from 1 to 10. Every evening. And, perhaps, leave a little note as to ‘why’ you felt that way. Here. I’d wrote it down for you.”

Jack looked at the notebook with doubt, but took it and put it his coat pocket. 

“Well, I bid you farewell, Dr. Bright.” smiled Glass.

Bright looked at him as if wanting to say something, but after going through some quick inner thought process turned away without a word and walked out the office. 

Simon went back to the desk table to finish his work for today: file some reports, update his schedule, write a couple of letters – but after some futile attempts to do anything he found exceedingly difficult to focus. Whatever he was doing his thought would inexplicably circle back to Dr. Jack Bright. Should he had said something else? Use different technics? Or change his strategy altogether? It’s not like he’s even good at following it apparently! Why is he keep losing control and focus? He had difficult cases before. After all, he had to work with SCPs. Some of which were hardly human. And he was fine, calm and collective. Until now. Simon sighed and took a sip from his coffee. It was dead cold now.


	4. SESSION 4

Simon put another box on the shelf. “Battleship”. He fixed it a bit to look more presentable. All together there were seven games now: chess, checkers, Scrabble, Stratego, Reversi, Mastermind and, finally, Battleship. He looked them all over again. Then moved checkers to the side. Looked again. And switched Scrabble and Battleship in places. Perfect. At last, something looked good in his office. 

Playing games is usually a good strategy for working with kids. Although there weren’t many of them in the Foundation (mostly SPCs, but also some personnel’s children) Simon thought he could successfully use it on some of his older patients. There was definitely one patient with whom he wanted to play. 

Simon checked his watch. Where was this patient? Bright was only late for ten minutes, but Simon had already checked time four times. 

He moved chess in the middle. 

Was he nervous? There was nothing to be nervous about. He was perfectly safe here in his office. He was relatively safe in his office. Unless SCP-106 would breach his containment. Then he would be minimally safe in his office.

Simon shook his head. What is he doing? He tried to remember events of this day – there should have been something that was triggering his anxiety now. He had a meeting with Dr. Bridge (that was rather straightforward), a session with Dr. Elliott (easy) and a consultation regarding experiments on one highly classified SCP with Dr. Clef (he struggled to understand Clef, but their conversation today was comparatively short and brief). So, what was it then? Perhaps he just ate something?

The door to his office opened. Dr. Bright walked in, carrying something in his hands. A protective glass container for transportation. 

“Oh! Good evening, Dr. Bright!” said Simon, suddenly feeling more energized. 

“Yeah, sure, howdy-doody and all that,” answered Jack quickly. “Guess what, Glass?”

“What?” said Simon, walking closer.

“I’ve got a present, a special gi-ift for you, Glass.”

“Oh, how intriguing!” it absolutely was. 

“I called him Chomper, but you can give him another name,” Jack lifted his container a bit, showing it to Simon. Inside was sitting the chunkiest, fattest, chompiest guinea pig he had ever seen. And it wasn’t moving. “Not that it’s gonna matter for long.”

“Is it…” Simon leaned closer a bit, inspecting the rodent. It still wasn’t moving. “Is it dead?”

“It better not!” Jack shook the container a little and Chomper woke up in fear and confusion. 

“He looks so sleepy... Wait.” Glass looked at the box closer and reach out to touch it. “Are there no holes in this container? Poor animal is suffocating.”

“Whoa there!” Jack yanked the box away from Simon. “I wouldn’t touch it, if I were you, Glass.”

“What? Why?”

“It’s a gift in a gift, you see,” said Bright with a crooked smile, carrying the box to the aquarium and putting it down. “Double present. A gift that keeps on giving.”

“Um…” Simon was getting a bad feeling about it.

“Ok. So. You take Chomper,” started explaining Jack, illustrating every point with his hands. “You throw him in the water, and then – pshhh! Like a bath bombs with a surprise inside.”

“Uh… could you, perhaps, be so kind as to, erm… join up the dots for me?”

“What dots?”

“I’m not sure I entirely understand the connection between throwing Chomper in my aquarium and… a ‘pshh’ in the result.”

“It’s 1092. Gonna get yourself a full aquarium lickety-split!”

Simon fell silent in disbelief. 

“They’re not big, but cute enough,” said Jack less confidently. “All different colours.”

“I’m afraid,” started Glass slowly. “I was strictly banned from populating my aquarium with anything. Especially with SPCs.”

“I ain’t gonna tell nobody,” Jack leaned closer to Glass and lowered his voice to whisper. “It’ll be our little secret.”

“Thank you, Dr. Bright, but I’m afraid, I must decline.” said Simon, trying to keep up friendly and calm appearance.

“Look, I’ll throw him in and if anyone asks any questions you can just tell them I was threatening you with 2482 and you had no other choice.” 

“No! Please, I…” Simon had seen people being burned, ripped apart, crashed and eaten. But he really didn’t want to see sleepy little Chomper die horrible in his aquarium. “I don’t want to have any hazardous SCPs in my office, thank you very much.”

“I though you wanted fish!”

“Yes, I do! But not… not like this…” drowsy fluffy Chomper stopped moving again, curling up in a ball of soft fur. “It’s… a, erm… a very dangerous and contagious SCP, Dr. Bright.”

“Not if you keep your aquarium shut.”

“I wouldn’t risk breaking containment procedures like that.” 

“Well…” Jack was looking at Glass closely as if studying his reaction. Was this just a provocation? But he seemed genuine enough, thought Simon. Perhaps, he was expecting different reaction and now was surprised to see so much compassion for the little rodent? “There ain’t any other fish on this Site.” 

“That’s ok, Dr. Bright. I think, I can manage.” 

“Oke-ey then.” Jack looked a bit upset now, as if he was really looking forward to presenting Glass with a gift. Simon couldn’t hide a smile.

“It was a lovely thought, Dr. Bright. Thank you.”

Jack shrugged. He didn’t seem to care much for Chomper anymore. 

“Well then,” Glass gestured to the sofa in an invitation. “Please.” 

Bright fell into the sofa, stretching his legs and crossing his arms. Simon sat opposite of him.

“How are you feeling today, Dr. Bright?” 

“Well enough, I guess.” Jack was idly looking around the office, playing with 963’s chain with one hand.

“Is there anything you would want to tell me?”

“Not really, no.”

“Are there any questions that you would like to ask me?”

“I dunno… not at the moment.”

“Yes, right. Were you keeping your mood journal?”

“What?”

“Notebook. That I gave you last session.” 

“Ah, yes. I’ve been doing that.”

“May I see it, please?”

“What do you mean? Was I supposed to bring it?”

Simon let out a sigh. So far, this session wasn’t really going too well. 

“Yes, Dr. Bright. Please, in the future, don’t forget to always bring it with you to our sessions.”

“Sure.”

Simon paused, studying Bright and thinking of what to do next. Jack seemed to be doing the same now – absently and brazenly looking Glass over, without trying to hide it, but also not that interested in what he sees either. Simon felt unexpectedly self-conscious. He never considered himself shy or bashful, usually being able to get under other people’s skin to make them uncomfortable or embarrassed. But now, under this lazy inspection, he felt his thoughts burn hot through his brain. 

“Well. Right. Would you like to play a game, Dr. Bright?” said Glass, standing up. More to break the silence than anything else. 

“What game?” Jack looked up, waking up a little bit.

“Oh, you can choose whichever one you want.” Simon walked to the shelfs, pointing at the different games he had.

“E-er… I dunno. Don’t really care.” mumbled Bright, seemingly losing his interest already. 

“Right. Are we going to play chess or checkers?” it was a way of addressing children – tricking them into doing what you want by pretending to give them a choice. Might as well try it now. Bright did remind him of a child sometimes. 

“Chess.” 

Well, it worked. 

Simon brought chess to the table and set up the pieces. 

“Black or white?” asked Glass.

“Black.” 

“Alrighty!” Simon turned the board and moved his pawn to h4.

Bright immediately went e5. 

“How was your day today, Dr. Bright?” a4.

“Saturday.” Jack didn’t seem to be too interested in the game and, barely glancing at the board, moved another pawn to d5. “How about you’ll tell me about yours?” 

“Very well,” d3. “A had a quite interesting conversation today with Dr. Clef, actually.”

“Oh, a bet.” said Jack deadpan with no particular interest or excitement and moved his knight to f6.

“Do you know him?” Simon wasn’t sure what would be the best move and just mirrored his knight to f3. He hoped he could get some insight not only on Bright, but on Clef as well. He had one evaluation session with him and couldn’t get out anything from him. The man was a mystery.

“Who doesn’t?” knight to c6. 

“Yes, quite…” laughed Simon moving his pawn to c3. Was this mystery to remain unsolved? How can he fish out more information? He’ll probably not going to get it out from Clef himself. While Glass was pretty certain that he can read everyone else fairly easy, Clef was impenetrable – always under several layers of lies, deceptions and manipulations. 

Jack silently moved his pawn to h6. He was moving his pieces so quickly that Glass was struggling to find time to think both about their conversation and the game. 

“Have you worked with him?” asked Glass, going c4.

“Oh! Quite a few times.” answered Bright, eating Glass’ pawn. 

“You must know him well then?” Simon ate his pawn too, but questioned whether he had made a mistake before. 

“You can say that.” Bright quickly moved his queen across the whole board, eating Glass’ queen. “Like, you know, when you have a friend, a real bud, that you would trust both with your life and getting drank with, but he also ‘s an absolute son of a bitch, like, a complete dickhead, and you would never trust him with anything, right?” 

“Um…” Simon looked at the board confused. Which one was it then? It really wasn’t helping him understand Clef whatsoever. And was he losing their game already? He took Bright’s queen with his king. “So, would you call him your friend?”

“I would call him an asshole.” knight to g4. 

“So…” Simon couldn’t figure out better move besides just moving his king to e1. “Is there someone you would call a friend?”

Jack silently moved his pawn to e4.

“Someone with whom you could share your problems?” knight to c3.

“Django ‘s alright, I guess.” shrugged Jack, eating Glass’ knight with his pawn. 

“Dr. Django Bridge?” Simon ate this pawn with his’s, thinking that he shouldn’t have lost his knight like this. He was definitely losing this game. 

“Yep.” knight to d4.

“That’s nice. We all need a friend.” Simon moved his rook to h3. He was pretty sure Jack wasn’t actually friends with Dr. Bridge, but there wasn’t any point in pushing it. “And what about more romantic relationship?” 

“Shit move, Glass, should have gotten my knight.” knight to e5.

“Do you have a partner, Dr. Bright?” was it really a bad move? He would have lost his knight as well. Simon decided to go for it and moved his knight to b5. 

“Why? Is that a personal interest?” Jack took his knight with his’s. He was hardly looking at the board, closely watching Glass with a hint of a playful smile. Simon felt slightly awkward again. 

“Professional.” he took Bright’s knight with his pawn. 

“Told you it was a shit move.” Jack took Glass’ rook with his bishop.

“As your therapist, I need to know what happens in your personal life.” f4. Was he trying to justify himself? It’s an important question when going through therapy and he had asked it many times before.

“Check.” bishop to d4.

“Right…” Bright already put his king in check, and Glass haven’t even saw it coming. He had to save it to d1. What was it he wanted to say? 

“Don’t you feel like this conversation is getting a little one-sided, Glass?” bishop to f5. “Maybe you should be answering those questions of yours as well? You got a bunch of best buddies and pals, eh?”

“Well…” bishop to d2. Does he have a lot of friends? Or are they all just “patients” for him? Becca is his friend. Was. “I’m afraid, they all stayed in Site-16. I’m going need to make new friends here.”

“I reckon, you quite the social butterfly.” sniggered Jack, castling his king to c8.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say so.” smiled Simon, moving his rook to a4. He was good with people and didn’t mind their company at all. But he rarely could find someone who he would call a friend.

“Trash move, Glass, should have mirrored me or something.” said Bright, eating bishop with a rook on d2. “Check.”

“Oh…” Simon had to save he king again and he moved it to c1. He felt like he was definitely losing both at this game and at this conversation. 

“And what about your sweetheart?” rook to d8. “Where ‘d be your hon’ now?”

“Um… No, I wouldn’t, erm… Nowhere.” splutter Simon, finally losing his posture. He felt hot in his ears and tried to discreetly pinch skin on his wrist, as if fixing his watch. Is he going red? Can Bright see him struggle? Is he watching him now? Wait. Why is he so stunned by it anyway? He had answered, and questioned, much more personal and intimate questions. Simon tried to focus on the game instead. He couldn’t. After little thought he took Bright’s bishop with his rook on b4. “Here… Yes, right, I’m afraid, I have too much work on my hands right now to mingle in heart’s affairs.” 

“Oh, the pity, the pity of it…” murmured Jack, while moving his rook to d1. “Checkmate.”

Simon was dumbfounded. He was left completely overwhelmed by this game. By Bright. By his swift victory. By his quick thinking. By his ability to get under his skin. Again. 

And why, why, why, did Bright sound so sweetly when he won their game?

“Brilliant game, Dr. Bright!” said Glass, trying to compose himself. “Very well done.”

Jack was looking attentively at him, leaning in and smiling. He looked like he saw something very amusing in Glass and was very pleased with this discovery. Or with himself? Simon found himself too distracted too read Bright’s expression conclusively. 

“What fun!” said Glass, clapping his hands and standing up.

“Sure was.” crooned Jack cheerily, still watching him.

“Now, yes, right, we do have some time left…” said Simon, checking his watch. “I would like to do an exercise with you, if you don’t mind.” 

“Oke-ey.”

“Two most effective ways of dealing with… depressive moods are a sense of achievement and a sense of pleasure,” started Glass, picking up paper and pen and bringing them to Bright. “How about we start with achievement today?”

“Cool.” nodded Bright much more agreeably than usually. 

“So, before we’ll finish today, I want you to write a list that you take away with you.”

“Co-o-ol.” Bright didn’t sound like he was taking it seriously, but he seemed ready to work with him. And that’s was big enough progress. It useless to go through therapy if one is uncooperative like that. So far, they hardly even went through the assessment – only the first stage of therapy. And you can’t prescribe right course of treatment without finding out what exactly is the cause of the problem. And whatever problems Jack had he wasn’t ready to share them. Simon was hoping that less direct approach would bear fruit before too late. 

“Let’s do some activity scheduling, shall we? When you feel like you don’t want to do anything – it’s important to fill your day with routine. So, can you, please, write a list of simple everyday tasks that you can, and want, to fulfil?” Glass gave Bright pen and put a piece of paper in front of him. “Accomplishing those tasks will give you a sense of achievement.”

“Um…” 

“Perhaps there’s some responsibilities that you’ve been neglecting recently? Or a hobby that you wanted to get into?”

“I don’t really know…” said Jack quietly, biting on the pen.

“That’s ok. Let’s start with something simple then, like making your bed in the morning?” Simon glanced at Bright’s white, dishevelled hair. “Or doing your hair?”

Jack wrote those two tasks down.

“Doing exercises?” offered Glass. “Working on your research papers?” 

Jack added that to the list as well. 

“Do you want to add anything else, Dr. Bright?”

“I don’t know?”

“That’s alright.” smiled Glass. “Take this list with you and think about it later. If anything will come to mind – write it down.”

“Ok.”

“Then try going through this list, every day, from easiest to hardest, and check every finished task down. It can be really hard sometimes. But eventually you’ll see how much you can actually accomplish in no time”.

Bright put paper away in his pocket and looked up at Glass. He looked calm and comfortable. 

Simon didn’t want to let him go.

“Do you…” Glass took a short breath. “Do you have any questions?”

“Maybe.” answered Bright quietly. “I’m gonna need to think them over.”

“Well,” Simon looked at his watch. “Our time is out.”

“Tsk, it is.”

For a few seconds they sat silently looking at each other. Bright wasn’t leaving and Glass had no strength to see him off. He had no patients after him. Some paperwork, sure, but he can do it at night. Perhaps he should offer him more time? Extend the session? Or just socialize like normal people and not like doctor and patient? Get some tea at the canteen? It could be beneficial for his treatment, right?

But before Simon could decide what to say Bright stood up slowly and, throwing him a silent smile, walked out of his office. 

Only after few minutes he left Simon realized that he forgot Chomper in his office. Well. That was another problem to figure out now.


	5. SESSION 5

Glass was sending out letters. His consultations with Dr. Clef were promising to grow into full collaboration. Clef already asked if Glass would like to personally participate in the upcoming experiment. Simon had never seen [REDACTED] before and only read files about this SCP (or what parts of it Dr. Clef was letting him see) and was quite excited about the opportunity to study it. And study Dr. Clef. 

But before all that he had to go through some bureaucracy. And it wasn’t going well.

Alright. First, he needs to figure out what assets are at his disposal. So far, almost nothing (partly due to his resent transfer). At this point Simon wasn’t entirely sure to what he had access at this Site. Second, what resources he will need further down the line of the experiment. This question was even harder to answer. For Dr. Clef has been keeping him basically in the shadows (on account of him being only an “Invited Consultant”). And thirdly, there was a question of Glass’ contribution to the experiment. The main problem so far was in how unresponsive the SCP was. Simon had to come up with new proposals for this problem. Proposals that haven’t been discussed or tried before.

He needed a smoke. 

Behind the screen of his computer Simon heard sounds of opening door and quick uneven steps. Was it 19:00 already? He was losing track of time. 

“Dr. Bright!” greeted him Glass without lifting his eyes from the screen. “I will be with you in a tick.”

He heard Jack falling into the sofa. 

“Yes… right.” Simon quickly finish what he could and closed everything else. He’s not going to be so unprofessional as to let one part of his work negatively affect others. He stood up from his computer and walked to his armchair. “How do you do today?”

“Still alive.” answered Jack, smirking.

“Hmm. And how does it make you feel?” it was a bit of a gamble, thought Simon. Bright might take it as a jibe and close himself off again, but Simon hoped that at this point he trusted him well enough to hear sincerity in his voice.

Jack stopped smiling and was sitting silently, twisting 963’s chain around his fingers.

“That’s ok.” said Glass in quiet and soft voice after waiting a bit for an answer. “Is there anything you would want to tell me?”

Bright shrugged and turned away. 

“Do you have any questions for me?” asked Simon.

Jack turned back to him as if suddenly remembering some question that he wanted to ask, but after looking at him intently for a few seconds didn’t produce any sounds and turned away again, as if changing his mind. 

“Have you tried activity scheduling?” asked Simon, looking Bright over. His hair were still loose, but it now looked washed and even brushed. 

“Some of it.” answered Jack, looking a bit down. “Couldn’t care less about any ‘academic’ bullshit right now.”

“How many tasks have you gone through?”

“Yesterday – seven. I added a couple more to your list.”

“Well, that’s great!” smiled Simon with genuine approval. “You don’t have to do a lot every day, as long as you doing something. You doing well.” 

Jack looked up at him, his eyes lightening up a bit. 

“May I see your mood journal?”

Bright gave him his little notebook. It was a bit bended. Simon started reading.

Wednesday. Angry 5. Note: “missed yesterday, told you i’ll forget it”

Thursday. Nothing. Note: “i just slept through the whole day”

Friday. Sad 10 (crossed) Angry 10 (crossed) 5 Note: “a hate this headache”

Saturday. Happy 10 (crossed) 9 (crossed) 7 (crossed) 5. Note: “it was a fun (crossed) cute game”

Sunday. Angry 8. Note: “piss off with you fucking condescending shit”

Monday. Sad 10 (crossed) 5 Note: “i dont know, im tired”

“Hmm… Yes, right. Some days better, some days worse. That’s how it usually is, perfectly normal.” Simon flipped through the journal. “What is it you were angry about on Wednesday?”

“That I have to do something useless.”

“Do you think our therapy is useless, Dr. Bright?”

“Is it not?”

“The fact that you don’t experience immediate positive results does not mean that there’s no overall progress. Therapy could take years before any significant changes will become apparent.” 

“Years?” Jack’s eyes went round.

“It doesn’t have to be the same on the paper, Dr. Bright.” said Simon quietly, leaning in a bit.

Bright only raised one eyebrow and didn’t say anything, seemingly processing all the connotations of that statement. 

“Let’s see...” continued Simon, coming back to the journal. “You slept through the whole Thursday, right?”

“I think so? I don’t remember.” 

“Do you experience sleeping problems often?”

“No, not really. Sometimes I can stay awake all 24 hours.”

“That is a ‘sleeping problem’, Dr. Bright.”

“Not if I want to stay awake, Glas-s-s.”

Simon looked at Jack closely, studying him. He was pretty sure that Bright was lying. Not to him. To himself. It was a very much insomnia.

“Very well. Do you have headaches often?” asked Glass.

“No, not too often. Only, like, a couple o’ days a week. Maybe once.”

“It is often.”

“Well, shit, if I have a brain tumour, it’s not gonna be a problem for long.”

“Alright…” sighed Simon. “It’s seems you were awfully upset with me on Sunday. Don’t think, we’ve met on that day, though, have we?”

“No…” Jack turned away. He didn’t seem to be angry with him anymore, thought Glass. Changed his mind?

“Why have you thought of me being condescending?” 

“Lo-ok…” Bright sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know why I wrote it.”

“Well, you felt like that at the moment.” Simon leaned in for moment and added softly and a bit more quietly. “It’s ok, I’m not saying you shouldn’t have written it.”

“It’s the stupid chess game, alright?” Jack threw his hands in the air in the annoyed gesture. “I thought about it and remembered your moves and I thought ‘shit no one be that stupid he’s throwing’…”

“And why would I do that?”

“To let me win. Like you said about achievements and stuff.”

“Oh, I see!” laughed Simon. “I assure you, Dr. Bright, I really was trying to win. I’m just that bad at chess. Or you that good. Probably both actually.”

Jack looked at him, tilting his head a bit and pulling on 962’s chain. 

“Now, when you felt that I was patronizing you, what did you think?”

“Um… that you’re a douche?”

“Ok. And what did you think about yourself?”

“That I couldn’t have won the game so easily.”

“Good.” nodded Simon. “Now. What does it mean?”

“What?” asked Jack confused, squinting his eyes.

“What does it say about you?”

Jack was silent for some time. Simon decided to wait and let him think.

“That I’m…” finally spoke up Bright, a bit lost and uncertain, “…too dumb to win the game fair?”

“Mhm. And what does it say about others?”

Bright was silent for a minute, but then said quietly to himself, not really addressing Glass:

“No one in the entire Foundation knows how such an idiot got a PhD…”

Simon waited a bit. That was a huge victory for him. Although he was fairly certain that low self-esteem was the least of Bright’s problem, it was good to be able to finally make him talk.

“That’s ok. It’s perfectly normal to feel angry or upset, when thinking about something like that.” started speaking Simon in kind and reassuring tone. “If I had such thoughts, I would be angry too. I would be angry both at myself and others.”

Jack lifted his eyes on him. He looked like he was searching for something.

“It’s ok to feel bad when you’re having bad thoughts.” said Simon gently. “But the question is – do you need those bad thoughts? Are they even truthful?” 

Simon paused and watched Bright for a second. He looked so… dependent at the moment, that Glass felt bad. The words that he said, the voice that he used, even his facial expression – everything was rehearsed many times. Everything has been used before – on patients, on colleagues, on test subjects – to gain trust, to get information, to manipulate. And he didn’t want Bright to think that that was what he was doing. Because he really did want to help. 

“Often our thoughts could get warped by cognitive distortions,” continued Glass. “Like when the problem is in minimisation, one would think that others only decry him, criticizing his every move, that he doesn’t deserve any compliments. When in reality it’s far from truth. Others usually have all sorts of thought inside their heads. Mostly about themselves.” 

Jack laughed shortly, nervously, fixing 963, tugging and pulling on its chain. 

“But they do think compliments about you.” said Simon softly, leaning closer. “I do.”

Bright was completely motionless for a second, but then leaned in as well, clasping his throat and pulling on his turtleneck’s collar. His breathing was quickened and his eyes were glowing. He looked like he’s going to suffocate himself with 963, if Simon won’t do something. Or was he just imagining it? Was it only what he wanted to see? 

“It’s ok…” breathed out Simon, reaching out and taking Bright’s hand as if to stop him from strangling himself. Bright hurriedly grasped Glass’ hand with both of his and squeezed it, lightly pulling him in a bit. And Simon only wanted to reduce the distance. 

Stop. What is he doing? Courting his patient? 

Glass smiled awkwardly, patted Bright’s hand and pulled away. He is not doing that. Bright is his patient. And he is vulnerable now, he is in need of help. That’s wrong and unprofessional on so many levels. 

Jack’s face went through several emotions very fast: at first, he looked confused, then irritated and then finally just sad. 

“Yes, well...” Simon stood up and cleared his throat. He checked his watch. They still had some time. 

And he had no idea what to do in that time. 

Jack looked up at him. He seemed angry again, looking at Glass closely, as if trying to figure out, why he backed away, and not finding the answer. 

“Right!” Glass grabbed Bright’s journal and looked in, while walking slowly around the room. He flipped through the pages again, thinking of what to say, but couldn’t gather any thoughts. “Well. Before you go, I have a new exercise for you to try. Every time you rate your emotions in your journal for the day – try also writing down everything nice that happened with you or everything good that you’ve done that day. Even the smallest things, no matter how insignificant they would seem at the moment. Perhaps, you had especially splendid coffee in the cafeteria or SCP-529 came to visit you. Everything.” 

Jack wasn’t answering, silently staring at him.

“Well. Here you go.” said Simon, giving him his journal. “If you have any questions now, please, feel free to ask.” 

Still nothing.

Simon took his clipboard and pen and sat in the armchair, pretending to write something very important down. He was angry at himself now. So much effort to make Bright trust him, to make him speak openly – and he just throwing it all down the drain. Stupid! 

“529 is quite wonderful, isn’t she?” tried to make small talk Simon. Silence would only make it worse. Pets are safe enough bet. Everyone has something to say on it – whether one likes them, or not. “But everyone calls her ‘Josie’ on this Site, right?” 

Jack raised one eyebrow.

“Do you like pets, Dr. Bright?”

“Everyone does?” shrugged Bright. 

“Do you have a favourite?”

“I s’pose 1424 is pretty cute.” said Jack, finally smiling a bit, as if recalling pleasant memories. “Fluffiest boy on this Site, I tell’ya.”

“That’s nice. Pets can really help ease one’s worries. It’s could be quite healing to spend time with one.”

“Well, the boy is constantly radiating a whole heap of ammonia so not that healing, no. Not that it is a big problem for me, really, if you’d ask me, a say, that’s a pretty good way to go, but you know…”

“Oh. Right.” before his transfer Simon had read files of all SCPs present on this Site, but he had completely forgot about 1424. “That’s a shame.”

“Yeah… life is full of disappointments, isn’t it?” 

“Not all of them are for worse. Sometimes, what we originally perceive negatively, could be in the end for the better.”

“O-o-h, really?” stretched out Bright in heavy sarcasm. “Like what?”

“Like not making mistakes, that in the moment might seem rather appealing.” spluttered out Simon quickly and immediately regretted it. Again, he’s not thinking carefully before his words and making it worse. Fool! 

“You think yourself one hell of a rational individual, Glass, don’t you?”

“One must try to be.” said Simon carefully, uncertain of what exactly this snark supposed to mean.

Jack sighed and rolled his eyes. 

“You know what, Glass?” said Bright, standing up. “I think I had enough fun for one day. I’m out.”

Glass checked his watch. They still had around ten minutes left, but he didn’t stopped Bright from leaving. 

After he left, Simon felt horrible.


	6. SESSION 6

Simon had finished his sixth cup of coffee this day. He hadn’t slept too well this week, for the last couple of days were rather hectic. On Wednesday there was a breach, where he had an unfortunate pleaser meeting SCP-049-2 for the first time. On Thursday a D-class that he was interviewing went mental and attacked him (managing to kick Simon five times in the ribs before being shot by the guard). On Friday he received a note from the director stating that due to certain “redacted” reasons his whole schedule has to be changed. And finally, this morning he has been informed that everything that he had prepared and planned for the upcoming experiment under the lead of Dr. Clef has to be changed immediately as the result of “newly discovered facts”. So now Glass had to rework everything before deadline: his line of questioning, his predictions, his argumentations, his research data… And there was only one hour left before deadline. An hour on which Dr. Bright was scheduled. He had to finish it now.

So, when he finally had sent out his last letter, Simon felt like his brain is going to melt trough his eyes. Which was a “refreshing” addition to his aching ribs. 

The sound of automatic door opening cut painfully through his brain. 

“Evening, Glass.” 

Simon lifted his eyes from the computer screen and saw Dr. Bright entering his office. He felt his mood brightening up a bit. 

“Good evening, Dr. Bright.” smiled Glass. “Please do come in.”

Jack sat on the sofa and Simon was too happy to leave his computer and sit in his armchair close to Bright. There was something so familiar and comforting for him in Bright’s tilted head and little sardonic smirk.

“How are you doing today, Dr. Bright?” 

“Better already.” said Bright half-jokingly, smiling a bit. 

“That’s nice to hear.” Simon couldn’t keep smile off his face. “Before we begin, is there anything you would like to tell me? Or perhaps ask me?

Jack shrugged, looking Glass over and playing with 963’s chain.

“May I see your journal, please?”

Simon took little notebook from Bright and read through it. Bright was dutifully writing down every day, following Glass’ instructions. Simon noted how his handwriting would change slightly from day to day depending on the mood, but still always resembled the same similar features. He tried to read the correlations between his handwriting and personality. Overall his handwriting was rather hard to read and was showing signs of high energy and nervousness. But quite often it would also show completely opposite symptoms. The size of the letters was usually on a larger side, but there were also little notes written all over in tiny letters. Bright did strike him as an extrovert, thought Simon, but was it not just a mask? The pressure of the writing would change from light to the heaviest (when Bright was especially emotional about something). And his words would often have so little spacing between them that they would practically jump onto each other and cross. Was it a sign of poor self-management? He would need more text to judge. 

“Yesterday you wrote down being in a very upset mood.” noted Glass. “Can you tell me what happened that day?”

“Nothing really.” Jack turned away, looking around the office. 

“Nothing?” asked Simon, raising an eyebrow. 

“Yeah! Exactly!” exclaimed Jack suddenly agitated. “That’s the problem, Glass.”

“How come?”

“I’ve been fixin’ to run this one experiment for, like, a year. That SCP, Glass, it’s gonna be the next ‘big one’, I tell’ya. But now I can’t even lead it!” 

“Mhm…” nodded Simon, prompting Bright continue. 

“And they’d be taking it from me, Glass.”

“Oh, I see…”

“They gonna give it to Clef. And I myself can only be an assistant. In my own fuckin’ experiment, Glass!” 

“Hmm…”

“And I’ll be participating only from Clef’s, mind you, authorization. Ain’t it ridiculous?”.

“Yes…” 

“So, yes, Glass, I am rather upset that after months of work and research all I get is nothing.” 

Simon waited a bit, watching Bright. Jack seemed saddened, but in very tired, fed up kind of way. 

“You see, Dr. Bright,” started Glass carefully in a kind and reassuring tone. “the events themselves cannot cause us distress…”

“Well it sure as hell did to me!” interrupted him Jack. 

“Not the event. But the thoughts that you had about it.”

“Oh, please!” Bright threw his hands in the air and rolled his eyes in annoyance. 

“Our feelings are formed by our thoughts, Dr. Bright. But our thoughts don’t always benefit us. Sometime they do us more harm than good. Like now.” 

“Well, go on then, Glass-s-s, please, shed the gleams of your deep knowledge of human souls on me.” grimaced Jack, hiding his discomfort behind heavy sarcasm. “Enlighten me on my thoughts and feeling, Dr. Glass.” 

“We all have a negative voice in our head, that criticize us, it’s perfectly normal.” tried to ignore his mockery Simon. “It is often formed by cognitive distortions, that we already discussed with you before.”

“And yet another astute piece of psychological thinking from our good doctor!” at this point Jack was literally bleeding with poison. 

“Bright, please!” lost his posture for a second Glass, but then immediately focused and continued in his usual patient and soft manner. “Let’s do a little exercise, shall we?” 

Jack was silent, but was looking at Simon with a derisive smile.

“Yes, well. Let’s listen to your critical voice, Dr. Bright, and write down, what it has to say.”

“What, like a list?”

“Yes, quite.”

“You sure do love those, ain’t you?”

Simon didn’t answer to that sneer and put a piece of paper and a pen in front of Bright. Who had little enthusiasm in that exercise and wasn’t taking neither paper, nor pen. 

“Do you want me to write it down for you, Dr. Bright?”

“Ok-ok-ok! I got it!” Jack took the pen, but froze, uncertain of what to write.

“How about we repeat what we’ve done before?”

“What?”

“When you found out about the fate of your project, what have you thought about it?” 

“I don’t know…” Jack was silent for a few seconds. “That it ain’t much surprising.”

“How do you mean?”

“I know how it’s all gonna end.”

“And how will it end?”

“With me being locked up and them throwing me from a monkey body to a pig body.”

Simon was quiet for a moment. He had a feeling that the main problem, that was poisoning Bright’s mind, was still escaping him. But he was onto something now. 

“And what does it mean, Dr. Bright?”

“How do I know?” Jack rubbed his face. He looked exhausted. 

“What does it mean about you?”

“That I’m stuck.” spit out Bright with spite. “Stuck with nothing but a degrading mind.” 

“And what does it mean about others?”

“That everyone in the Foundation would be better off without me.” muttered Jack bitterly. “Or at least the ‘ll be right relieved.” 

“Mhm…” Simon paused for a few seconds, letting Bright think and breath. “Now. How much do you believe it?” 

“What?”

“In percentage?”

“Um… erm, 90, no, ok, 85%.”

“I see…” Simon took pen from Bright’s hands and moved empty paper closer to himself. “Now let’s list all arguments for and against this idea.”.

“Oh, for fuck sake, Glass!” Jack sighed heavily and closed his face in enervation. 

“First. Them locking you up. How can you support it?”

“Well, they already restricted my authority.”

“What about animal bodies?” asked Simon, writing down Bright’s words. 

“There’s an abundance of test animals, you know that.” 

“Alright…” Simon paused, unsure if he wants to discuss every word, that Bright had said. Perhaps, he should try? “Second, you said, that you stuck.”

“I’ve tried to escape 963 ever since I realized what had happened, Glass. It was all useless.”

“Hmm… and third, your degrading mind?”

“Shouldn’t you know that one better, then I do?” simpered Jack dryly. “The fact that I’m here now is good enough proof, ain’t it?”

“Very well. And the last – that everyone would be happier without you?”

“Look… I know, that some people right pissed off with me.” frowned Bright. “That ain’t a secret.”

Glass nodded and drew a line across the paper, right to the list, separating supporting arguments from soon to be against. 

“Yes, well. Now. Let’s go through all of our points again.”

“Let’s not?”

“What arguments we can provide against the Foundation locking you up in a pig body?” 

“They’ll not gonna want to waste perfectly fine pigs on me?”

“Alright… what else?” 

“They haven’t done it yet?”

“Good. More?”

“They…” Jack paused, uncertain. “They trust me?”

“Splendid.” smiled Glass, writing everything down. “Now, you being forever stuck with 963.”

Bright felt silent for a minute, tugging on 963’s chain.

“Maybe we’ll discover a new SCP that… could help?” 

“Mhm. Or?”

“Or… new properties of old SPCs?”

“Right…” it wasn’t the answer that Simon hoped to get, but he wrote it down anyway, deciding not to push. “What about you losing your mind?”

“What about it? You’re the shrink.”

“You need to come up with the argument against it, Dr. Bright.” reminded Glass. Bright had to do it himself.

“Well… I still work here?”

“Yes, you do. And?”

“I can still do research.”

“What else?”

“I mean… I can do other stuff alright.”

“That’s right...” said Simon with kind smile, quickly writing everything down. Again, not exactly what he was hoping for. “And finally, other people?”

Jack said nothing. He was glaring at his knees, angrily pulling on 963’s chain.

“We had talked about it before, Dr. Bright. People don’t notice every mistake we make. They’re too busy thinking about themselves.”

“Well, it doesn’t mean the all too happy to see me.”

“Why? I am.” quickly spluttered out Simon too eager to reassure Bright and instantly bit his tongue. His going to make the same mistakes again, if he’s not careful. 

“Yeah, right…” Jack raised one eyebrow with a strange expression on his face.

“You’ve said that you have friends, Dr. Bright?” it wasn’t the best thing to say. Simon suspected that their relationships with Dr. Bridge, albeit positive, do not constitute as a proper friendship. Bringing Bright’s attention to it right now was counterproductive, but he wanted to shift his attention from himself.

“Yeah, I guess, I do have friends here. Well. Maybe not friends, but people with whom it’s fun enough to work and get wasted.”

“Wonderful.” Simon finished writing and gave finished list to Bright. “Now, please read everything that we wrote down and tell me again – how much do you believe your negative voice?”

Jack spend some time reading the list, frowning and occasionally grimacing. He was making rather cute faces, thought Simon and looked away, suddenly finding a great interest in his empty aquarium.

“Ok, fine.” spoke up Jack. “50%. It’ll either happened, or not.”

“35% better, Dr. Bright!” cheered Glass. “That’s good, that’s progress.”

Jack lifted his eyes, looking at Glass somewhat lost, but uplifted nonetheless. 

It made Simon feel a bit better too. 

“That’s great, Dr. Bright. Now, we talked about how realistic your concerns are, so now we also need to…”

A beeping sound of notification interrupted him. Simon checked his watch, was it an hour already? No, they still had twenty minutes more. 

“Excuse me…” apologized Simon with a smile, standing up. 

It could be something important, thought Glass, and it will only take a second to check. He walked to his computer and looked at the screen. There a message with a response regarding his participation in Dr. Clef’s experiment simply stated “declined”. That’s it. No explanation, no elaborations. 

“Fuck.” muttered Glass, overwhelmed by all the stress, pressure, headache and soring ribs. 

Bright stood up and walked slowly to Glass. He seemed amused momentarily, but then, noticing how tired and upset Glass was, frowned in concern. 

“Well something must have happened.” said Bright.

“I’m sorry, it just was… quite a hectic week.”

“Like…?”

“Like my participation in Dr. Clef experiment being cancelled.” said Simon wearily, walking away from a hateful computer and sitting on the edge of his desk table. 

“This jerk!” laughed Jack.

“I’m sure the decision didn’t come from him.”

“A-ha, I’m sure.” grinned Bright mockingly. 

Simon could only manage to sigh. 

“What else happened on this hectic week?” asked Jack a bit more gently. Was he trying to help? To lift his mood?

“Well… During the last breach I got locked in my office by 049-2 wondering under my door.”

“I’m sure they just heard how amazing you are at your work and wanted to have a session with you.”

“Of course,” laughed Glass a little bit. “And then I had a D-class attack me.”

“Just couldn’t keep their hands from you!” Jack shrugged exaggeratedly. “You can’t blame ‘em.”

The silliness of Jack’s mocking theatrics was more comforting and uplifting for him then he had expected. If Bright can laugh this all off, he can too. 

“Looks like you had a lot of stress this week, Glass.” said Bright softly, walking closer to Simon. “How’d you be relaxing from stress?”

“I’m afraid, tobacco had become my deadly weakness.” said Glass, clapping himself on the pockets, checking where his pack of cigarettes and the lighter are. He grabbed his cigarettes, look at them longingly and threw them on the table. He then took out his lighter from his trousers pocket, but quickly put it back. No, he is not smoking. “I'm planning to quit.” 

“We all have our little foibles…” murmured Jack, picking up his cigarettes and taking one out.

“It’s a bad habit.” mumbled Simon, unsure of what to say.

“And you can’t have any of those, ain’t you?” smiled Bright, walking closer to Glass and handing him a cigarette.

“I’ve already had my three cigarettes a day…” 

“I don’t think one cigarette ‘ll give you cancer.” said Bright and stepped closer, putting one leg between Simon’s knees.

“It’s a question of discipline.” breathed out Simon, getting lost in how close Bright was now.

“O-oh, I’m sure, you right good at it.” whispered Jack and slowly lowered his hand in Glass’ front trouser pocket, fishing out his lighter. He moved even closer, leaving his warm breath on Glass’ cheek. He found his lighter but stayed close for a moment too long with his hand way too close. He leaned into Simon’s ear, whispering. “Found it.” 

Simon choked on his own breathing, left speechless, motionless, letting Bright pull out his lighter and light the cigarette up on his lips. Jack coughed and squinted his eyes.

“I don’t actually smoke…” he lifted his watering eyes to Glass and slowly put cigarette in his open mouth. His eyes were shining dreamily with plea, reflecting electric light in forming tears. 

Simon took a long drag in complete haziness of unanswered needs. 

What is he doing?

Glass quickly took his cigarette out of his mouth and drowned it in the almost empty cup of coffee. 

“I’m pretty sure we only allowed to smoke at the SCP-3295, Dr. Bright.” said Simon, moving away from Bright as fast as he could. Before he’d make any more mistakes. 

Jack sighed loudly with frustration and walk away, tugging on 963’s chain again.

A notification alarm beeped again. This time – signalling the end of their session.


	7. TEST

Simon was late. He rushed through the corridors, down the stairs and to the checkpoint. Passing through the checkpoint, he smiled to the guards, making some light small talk. He didn’t really feel like chatting, but it’s rarely a bad idea to pretend to be friendly. If you good at it.

Simon put his keycard away and paused for a second, catching his breath and looking around, noting safe rooms, cameras and guard’s s stations. He had entered Heavy Containment Zone for the first time on this Site and it would be a lie, if he said, that it didn’t make him a bit anxious. He has been to HCZ before, but the SCPs that were contained in his previous place of work were nothing compared to the exhibits here. 

But there was no time to lose, and Simon ran to Test Lab-15.

He opened big heavy doors to the Lab and saw a brightly lit room, filled with different tech: computers, cameras and many more, that Simon couldn’t recognize. A couple of researches that were writing and typing something down turned their heads to him and nodded in greeting, when he walked in. Right in front of him was a large glass window and on the right – an array of computer screens, displaying recordings from different cameras around the Lab and some other data. Near the window was standing Dr. Bright, who greeted Simon with a little sly smile before turning back to the window and continuing his observations. Simon walked closer to him and looked out of the window too – there, in the main testing area, several agents were listening to the instructions from Dr. Clef, who was pacing around something that Glass could only identify as a portal. 

“Don’t worry, you ain’t late.” smiled at him Bright, noticing Glass’ heavy breathing. 

“What is this?”

“TL-15, doctor.” Bright tilted his head in a pretend confusion. “You shouldn’t be here, if you need to ask questions like this.”

“I asked Dr. Clef about my cancelled participation in this experiment, Dr. Bright.” said Glass nicely, hiding his annoyance behind polite smile. “And he told me that he had reached project’s budget ceiling and his resources were scaled back. But now, literally two days after we had this conversation with him, I’m notified of time and place of the experiment.” 

“I wouldn’t trust everything that he says, Glass.”

“Why I am on the project again, Bright?”

“Isn’t it what you wanted?” said Bright with familiar intonations. Simon tried to recall what does it reminds him of? Oh, right. Fish.

“I assume this is your doing?”

“I might have had a short friendly banter with my bud Clef.” 

“What does that supposed to mean?”

“I told him that he’s not gonna get anything from me otherwise.”

“I don’t understand,” said Simon, frowning. “He already has clearance.” 

“To the SCP, not my research on it.”

“How telling him that solved anything?” said Simon, getting more aggravated. He was missing something, something that he couldn’t see, and it was irritating him. “It wasn’t his decision.”

“O-oh, please, Glass,” crooned Bright. “You shouldn’t be so naive. Not with that man.”

“You seem to have an opinion on him, alright.” said Glass quietly, stepping closer to Bright, so not to be heard by researches. “Why then put yourself in such position?”

“What position?”

“Asking him for favours.”

“It’s hardly a favour.”

“Not from what I keep hearing about him.”

“Really, Glass?” said Bright quietly with mischievous, almost evil smile. “Do you think that after years of working here and everything, I’ve been through, I haven’t learned to play all sorts of games? Clef knows that ve-ery well. That why he’s playing along now.” 

“You shouldn’t have done it.” shook his head Glass, still trying wrap his mind around all of it. 

“Honestly, Glass,” said Bright with rising annoyance in his voice. “You just being ugly now!” 

Both researches turned their heads to look at Bright and Glass, but then hurriedly returned to their work, noticing the door to the test area opening. 

“Good, you here.” said Dr. Clef, entering the observation room. “We are ready to start.”

“Oh, good morning Dr. Clef!” greeted him Simon cheerily, putting back on his usual friendly smile. “How do you do?”

“No time for pleasantries, Glass.” jabbered Clef and beelined to the control panel, not even looking at anyone. He was talking with a tone and voice of someone, who is used to people following his orders. And doing it fast. “I’m going to activate [REDACTED] and in five to ten minutes, by my estimations, [DATA EXPUNGED] will appear. You will interview it personally, Glass.” 

“Now, wait a second, Clef,” laughed Bright. There was something new to his voice, thought Simon. Worry? “Why is he going inside?”

“I have everything ready, it’s…” tried to say something Glass.

“We don’t know enough about this SCP,” continued Bright, not letting Glass say anything. “It could be critically dangerous.”

“We know that so far that SCP did not attack anyone and has been fully cooperative.” replied Clef unfazed. Simon felt, like Dr. Clef was talking in a foreign language – so unreadable his expressions and intonations were to him. Never before Glass had such troubles getting into someone’s head (not human at least) and it was almost disorienting to him now. 

“Oh? Sorry, didn’t realize we are stating inertia as cooperativeness in our reports now.” said Bright in a mocking tone. 

“I’m sure there’s no need for extra precautions right now.” intervened Simon as tactfully as he could. “It looks like there’s enough agents, cameras and other security measures down there already.”

“You have your stuff ready, Glass?” asked him Jack.

“Yes, I have my…” started Simon, opening his folder, but have been interrupted right away. 

“Good. Give it to the agent Soler-Ramos, she’s smart.” nodded to the window Bright.

“Every agent already has their position and…” objected Clef, but Bright interrupted him as well.

“Ok, give it to D-class then.”

“To which D-class better?” asked Clef with cold sarcasm. “To a degenerate murderer or retarded rapist?” 

“If I may…” tried to start speaking Glass, but was stopped by Bright snapping his papers from him.

“I’ll go,” said Jack, briefly looking through the papers. “Both of you together hadn’t spent half as much time studying this thing as I did.” 

“What?” turned to him Glass with protest. “No, that’s…”

“Good.” nodded Clef. “You have my leave.”

Simon couldn’t even object anything, Clef quickly turning back to the control panel and Bright leaving the observation room. 

“Agent Soler-Ramos, initiate the test protocol A-2. Agent Hood, watch for…” started speaking Clef, giving instructions through the speaker and recording experiment log on his dictaphone.

Simon walked closer to the window. He saw Bright enter testing area, sit at the table and put paper folder down. Portal structure lit up and started making a strange ominous sound.

Then nothing happened. For far too long.

Simon was looking at Bright, bad, worrying feeling raising in his stomach. He couldn’t tell where this premonition was coming from and what it is to portend, but he hated every second that Bright had to spend down there.

He took a deep breath. It was unacceptably unprofessional of him to put his emotions before logic during an important research experiment. He should get his thoughts in order. He checked his watch – eleven minutes had passed already. Perhaps, it’s not their lucky day? Someone somewhere made a mistake and they just have to end the experiment now. Simon wouldn’t be too upset with it.

But finally, the strange sound seemed to change its tune, becoming less and less audible. Simon looked at the cameras – and there he saw test room filling with something reminiscing of a cobweb, slowly covering everything and everyone. Including Bright.

“Dr. Clef,” addressed him Simon, “on the cameras…”

“Yes, I know, we have seen that before.” quickly said Clef in a dismissive tone. Simon turned back to the cameras, but then looked at him again in double take. Did he just imagine it or was there something else in Clef’s voice? Was he hiding something under the mask of disregard? Simon turned away – Clef was still inscrutable to him.

Glass looked out the window – and took a step forward in surprise. There a strange humanoid creature was exiting its portal. It wobbled in an unnerving manner to the table and froze unnaturally like a statue. 

“Well, hello there,” started speaking Bright, pushing the button on the recorder and opening the folder. “Date [REDACTED], time 12:15…”

Bright continued talking, going through regular protocols and then through everything that was planned by Glass. But Simon could barely hear what he was saying. He wanted to leave the room, but at the same time couldn’t take his eyes away from the window.

“Let’s hope you were right, Glass.” said Clef, without looking at him.

“What?” Simon glanced at him, startled.

“You last preposition,” said Clef and then, noticing Glass’ confusion, added in a strange tone. “Regarding it being unresponsive.”

Oh, right. The SCP in the room was still frozen, not moving and not reacting to anything that Bright did. Simon didn’t care. Not about the SCP. 

“Time 12:56…” sighed Bright on the other side of the glass, taking the paper out of the folder and drawing something on it. “This is just getting boring at this point…”

Simon turned to the cameras, but because of the strange cobweb couldn’t get a good look at what was on the papers.

“Have you given him additional instructions?” asked him Clef.

“No…” answered Glass puzzled. Bright was finished with Glass’ folder and was coming up with something new. “You’ve seen everything I have, Dr. Clef.”

Simon felt the strange foreboding renew in him. He wanted this experiment to stop. Or at least something else being done about this SCP. Perhaps some D-class should throw something at it? Whatever. But Clef wasn’t interfering and Simon thought if he should ask him to. He turned to him, but froze silently, noticing that Clef wasn’t looking through the window – he was studying him. Glass turned away and walked to the monitors, trying to hide how he felt. There was something that unsettled him about Clef right now. He looked like his experiment had proved something to him. And it had little to do with an SCP. 

On the monitors it looked like the cobweb was now covering the cameras, obstructing the view completely. 

Later no one of those present in the experiment were able to state with confidence what exactly led SCP to become suddenly aggressive and attack Dr. Bright. And Simon could only remember how swift and unexpected was the strike and how horrible, gut-twisting, unbearable was the death. No-no-no, it wasn’t death, reminded himself Simon again. Dr. Bright didn’t die. He couldn’t die. 

But it wasn’t making it easier.

Simon tried to reconstruct the events. He remembered Clef giving orders, agents shooting, and SCP disappearing into the portal. He remembered looking at the bloody shredded body, torn to pieces and left on the floor in an unnatural pose of a broken mannequin. He remembered big round eyes that not so long ago looked at him with a smile – now empty. He remembered feeling sick, stumbling out of the lab and somehow ending up in SCP-3295. He remembered smoking through the entirety of his remaining cigarettes. He remembered walking back to his office and cancelling all the sessions for the rest of the day.


	8. SESSION 7

Simon was looking at his watch in horror. The last few days he was avoiding Dr. Bright and everything about him like his name was a memetic hazard. But alas, he had no power to stop time and so he had to meet Bright soon. 

Anyway, what is this childishness? Is he afraid of meeting his patient? 

Simon took a deep breath and closed his face with his palms. He hadn’t slept well in the last few days – every night he would wake up from a nightmare – something that hadn’t happened with him in a very long time.

The door to his office opened. 

Simon turned sharply to see who was there. Gracile, almost scraggy, young man stepped into his office. He was wearing blue jeans, black turtleneck with thick tall collar and doctor’s coat. And on his neck – SCP-963. 

Simon gawked at him in stunned silence. 

“Well, congratulations, Glass, we got green light.” said Bright, crossing his arms and strolling through the room. “We gonna get our funds raised. You got any wild ideas that were too expensive to implement before?” 

“I don’t think, I will be participating in this experiment any further.” said Simon weakly.

“What?” Bright turned to him steeply, frowning angrily. 

Simon didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t even sure what to think. He almost felt dissociated. He had thought about Bright so much for the last few days, but now he could only stand there, blinking stupidly, like a bad student, who forgot to learn his lesson. Everything that he wanted to say to Bright, flew right out of his head. 

Bright was looking at him crossly, waiting for the answer, impatiently tugging on 963’s chain. Simon tried to form an answer, but couldn’t, his mind fogging with one notion only – the giddy realization that Jack was here, alive, with him. 

He knew that before, of course, reminded himself Simon, there was no reason to lose his mind now. 

“Why not?” asked Bright again, rising his eyebrows in confusion. “I’m telling you, it’s a big one, Glass. Don’t you wanna have your name on one of the big boys?” 

“If it’s one of the ‘big ones’, my name is going to be redacted immediately,” said Glass. It was a silly, pointless dispute, but he wanted to argue with Jack, talk to him, listen to him. “Redacted from the files that no one will see anyway.”

“They’ll see.” said Bright, glancing at the ceiling. 

“I don’t want to be in this experiment.” repeated Simon more firmly, even though he knew perfectly well what Jack meant. 

“Oh, shush,” waved him off Bright wearily, almost as if he was getting physically tired from this debate. “Stop throwing a hissy, silly child.”

Jack stopped talking and sat on the arm of the sofa, playing with 963’s chain and looking at the fake fireplace. He looked like nothing of what happened really bothered him and he wasn’t taking Glass’ objections seriously one bit. 

“I mean it.” said Simon. Truthfully, he wasn’t really sure what it is that he ‘means’, but he hated that Jack stopped talking. He wanted to hear his voice, his indeterminable accent, his strange melodic intonations, his silly childish sarcasm – he needed to hear it. 

“Why?” asked Bright, wrinkling his soft short hooked nose.

“I… I can’t…” stuttered Glass, watching Jack closely, studying every detail of his new appearance. “Not after what happened.”

“After what?” asked Jack, standing up and walking closer. He didn’t seem to understand what shocked Glass so deeply. 

“I saw you die!” spluttered out Simon and immediately shut his mouth, surprised at himself for saying it. 

“Well, you’ve must been looking somewhere else, ‘cause I’m still living!” spread his arms Bright as if in proof that he’s there and alive. He sounded bitter and angry, but not really at Glass. 

“I never want to see it again.” said Glass quietly.

Jack looked at him with a sharp piercing glance. There was something between irritation and exhilaration in his eyes. He stepped closer, looking Glass over.

Simon hold himself from grabbing Jack’s arm and pulling him into the hug.

“This little game of yours is starting to get a bit old, Glass, don’t you think?” narrowed his dark hooded eyes Jack with a lopsided sneer.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Bright, I never meant to mislead you.” Simon clasped his hands, as if to support himself. He really should get this sorted out already.

“Mislead my ass!” fumed Jack, rolling his eyes. “You can’t think others blind, Glass, that’s just arrogance.”

“Well, then I made a mistake of misleading myself.” restated Simon, coldly, looking away, trying to retain his posture. 

Jack glowered at him silently, contemplating on something. 

“Is it the body?” spitted out Bright finally. 

“What?” puzzled Simon, confused. It wouldn’t be the first time he got completely lost by Bright’s leaps of logic.

“I reckon, I can get a better one.” said Jack casually, in a very matter-of-fact way, but Simon was sure, he heard some bitterness in his voice. “You have a preference?”

“No.” answered Glass icily, getting slightly offended by the implications of Bright’s question. “I don’t have a ‘preference’, Dr. Bright.” 

“Well, would you stop beating around the bush and explain yourself?”

“There’s nothing to explain beyond my lapse of judgment.”

“Then why continue treating a patient when you can’t even check yourself?”

“I’ve… had my personal interests.” said Simon, somewhat uncertainly. It’s the ‘special assignment’, isn’t it? He was doing it for the promotion, right?

“Yea-ah, I’ve noticed tha-at, Glass.” drawled Bright, tilting his head with a knowing smile. “That’s what I’m trying to get out of you.”

“No, not that personal.”

“Don’t tell me it’s about this [REDACTED] shit with Clef? There’s gotta be easier ways.” said Jack, walking closer to Glass.

“Oh, no!” huffed Simon. “Nothing of what happened was in any way in my interests.”

“That’s rich!” snorted Jack, poking his index finger at Glass’ suit lapel. “And after me trying to help.”

“Well, I didn’t ask for help, Dr. Bright, thank you very much.” 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Bright shook his head, still poking his finger at him and grinning in amusement at the change in Glass’ demeanour. “How rude!”

“My apologies.”

“Don’t be ungrateful, Glass,” said Jack softly, playing with Glass’ jacket button. “Or people won’t want to do nice things for you.”

“Well, please accept my greatest gratitude, Dr. Bright.” Simon tried to step back, but hit his desk table. He could have walked around the table, but after a very brief consideration, he deemed that task impossible, letting Jack continue. 

“Really, how great?” asked Jack in a lowered voice, unbuttoning Glass’ jacket. “Maybe you could illustrate for me?”

“Not in this timeline.” breath out Simon, getting too besotted by Jack’s lightest touches to stop him.

“What that s’posed to mean?” asked Bright, a bit confused.

“Improper relationships with current patients cannot be equal or healthy, Dr. Bright.” bumbled Simon, trying to catch his breath. “It is very emotionally damaging to the patient.”

“Simon, among all the thing in the whole Foundation – you the last one I would call emotionally damaging." Jack tilted his head and smile. “Well, except for SCP-999, but we don’t have him on our Site. So, I’d say, you still my favourite.” 

“Psychiatrist holds a position of power over his patient.” said Simon quietly. He really wanted to give up. “That makes it unethical… wrong.”

“Oh? Do you like being in a position of power?” grinned Jack, leaning closer and moving his knee between Glass’ legs.

“Therapist knows everything about the patient.” stuttered Simon, dazzled with Jack’s closeness. This argument was becoming completely insupportable to him. He really wouldn’t mind losing it right now. “While patient knows nothing about him. It’s… unfair.”

“Do you really think you know more about me that I do about you?” asked Bright, growing more and more hotly inpatient.

“It’s a question of… dynamic.” faltered Simon, inebriated by Jack’s warmth and contact. He felt his knees going weaker and squeezed the edges of the table for support.

“Well, we’ll gonna have to change it up then, ha?” whispered Bright, moving closer, living his hot breath on Glass’ face. He was so close, Simon thought he could count, how many freckles were splattered on Jack’s golden tawny cheeks. 

“I would need to immediately stop treating you,” mumbled Glass almost inaudibly, feeling hot flush spreading up his neck to his cheeks. “And redirect you to a different psychiatrist.”

“Oh, the sacrifices that we make!” intoned Jack with mock solemnity, brushing his hand down the row of buttons of Glass’ shirt and, almost weightlessly, lower, down the inner side of his thigh. 

Simon gasped sharply for air, moving a bit to let Jack do more. 

“That’s… it’s…” stuttered Glass, without really thinking anymore. “…rather unprofessional.”

“I promise you, doctor,” murmured Bright into his lips, leaving on them lightest, hottest hints of touches. “I won’t complain to HR.”

Simon parted his lips, but Jack instantly pulled away from him, eyeing him questioningly, as if waiting for Glass’ answer. 

That was too much for way too long.

Simon clasped Jack’s face with both his arms, bringing him into a desperate hungry kiss, finally losing the last remains of his self-control. He kissed his receptive open lips, his hot neck, his ears – everything he could reach. 

Jack was kissing and touching him hurriedly, undressing him in such a haste, as if they were running out of time. 

“I don’t remember the last time I wanted someone so badly,” said Jack, trying to undone the buttons faster and breaking one of them of.

Simon decided not to mention the correlation between depression and libido. 

It was messy, hectic and inpatient, but it was so long awaited, gratifying, longed-for. When it was all over Jack laughed and grinned, leaning onto Simon’s chest, telling his senseless jokes and silly compliments. And Simon thought that he probably was wrong and he hasn’t made a mistake. It possibly couldn’t be a mistake. 

Glass did redirect Bright to a different psychiatrist. And he did receive a promotion. Although it wasn’t due to his ‘special assignment’, but rather thanks to his participation in Clef’s experiment. Which, later, was much more successful.


End file.
